to be taken off as the only way of saving his life. He had grown so thin
and wasted that she used to carry him upstairs in her arms so that he
might join in the prayers she held for the whole hospital. He was eight
months in the hospital, and he says, “I learned to love Sister Dora as a
mother.” He tells how she used in the afternoons to attend to the
out-patients, “dress their wounds, set a broken arm, sew up a cut, or
draw teeth, in fact anything that was required of her she would do, and
always with the tenderest care and the kindest word to all.” She often
amused the men with tales of her doings in the country as a girl, and
told them about her riding and fox-hunting, and this man who watched her
life in the hospital for eight months says, “those patients who were the
most trouble, she seemed the fondest of.” She knew how to get the men to
help her by making them wait upon one another; generally there was some
boy who had to stay a long while in the hospital, who waited upon her as
a devoted slave. After she had been four years at the hospital, to show
their gratitude for all she had done, her patients subscribed fifty
pounds amongst themselves with which they bought a small carriage and
pony for her. She delighted in using it to send convalescents for a
drive, and found it a help in taking her to visit sick people in their
homes. She seldom took a holiday herself, and once was three years at
the hospital without any break, but if she did go away into the country
with friends, she enjoyed everything with all her old energy, bathing or
skating, taking long walks, when she would lead the way in scaling
fences or fording streams. Sometimes she took patients who were
convalescent for expeditions into the country or to visit Lichfield
Cathedral. The old patients specially loved to revisit the hospital on
Sundays, when, after a clergyman had held a short service, Sister Dora
used to speak to them herself, and then lead them in the singing of many
hymns. She always had a small Bible in her pocket, and studied it
whenever she had a spare minute.
In 1875 there was a terrible outbreak of smallpox in Walsall. There was
an isolation hospital on the outskirts of the town, but in those days
people were not compelled by law to send smallpox patients away, and
they refused to go of their own accord, for they said that they would
rather die at home. It was very necessary for the welfare of the town
that they should be persuaded to go to the hospital and not spread the
terrible infection by staying in their own homes. So Sister Dora offered
to leave her hospital and go to take charge of the Smallpox Hospital.
She knew that the people trusted her, and thought that they would come
if she was there. Her offer was gladly accepted; all through the town
the news ran, “Sister is going to the Epidemic Hospital.” Her lady
pupils were left to take charge of the hospital, and she went off to her
lonely work with the surgeon of the hospital to show her the way. It
seemed such a lonely and desolate spot that even her courage failed her
at the door, and she cried out, “Oh take me back, I cannot endure this
dreadful place.” But the surgeon knew her real courage, and only said,
“Come in.” It was an admirably planned little hospital, and she was
delighted with it. There were twenty-eight beds, and she had not been
half-an-hour in the hospital before seven patients arrived, to be
followed by many more. Her only regular helper was the porter, an old
man, who did all he could for her when he was sober, but used sometimes
to go away and get drunk, leaving her alone for the whole night. Two old
women came in from the workhouse to help her in washing the clothes and
bedding, but much of the scrubbing and cleaning she had to do herself,
as well as all the nursing. One of the police who came to see her told
her that the people in the town declared they should not mind having the
smallpox with “Sister” to nurse them. Some few people were brave enough
to visit her in her loneliness, and to bring her books and flowers and
news of her patients at the hospital.
One of the old patients, an engine-stoker, went often to see her after
his day’s work was done. He had been twice in the hospital under her
care, and he said, “I could not tell you all her goodness to me, words
would fail me if I tried.” She was full of courage and joy in her work,
and wrote to a friend: “You must not fret. I rejoice that He has
permitted one so unworthy to work for Him; and oh, if He should think me
fit to lay down my life for Him, rejoice, rejoice, at so great a
privilege.” Even her sense of fun did not leave her, and she wrote a
long letter to her old patients at the Cottage Hospital, calling them
all by their nicknames and sending messages to each. She said of a boy
who was her special slave: “What shall I say to my beloved Sam. I wish I
had my boy here. I send him twenty kisses and hope he has been in church
to-day and in time. He must not sulk all the time I am away. I have two
blessed babies, who alternately keep up music all day and night,
accompanied by an Irishwoman’s tongue, so I am not dull. Have you been
singing to-day? You must sing particularly, ‘Safe in the arms of Jesus’
and think of me. Living or dying, I am His. Oh, my children, you all
love me for the very little I do for you; but oh, if you would only
think what Jesus has done, and is doing for you, your hearts would soon
be full of love for Him, and you would all choose Him for your Master.”
Towards the middle of May, the Smallpox Hospital was empty and she hoped
soon to leave; but before she was ready to go new patients were brought
in, and this happened several times, so that it was not till the middle
of August, after six months’ work at the Smallpox Hospital, that she was
able to close it.
The following October a terrible explosion occurred at the furnace of
some ironworks, and eleven men were covered with streams of molten
metal. In their agony they jumped into a neighbouring canal, and were
with difficulty rescued and taken in cabs to the hospital. Burnt all
over and frightfully disfigured, they were carried in and laid on the
floor till a ward could be cleared for them. It was a terrible scene,
even the doctors could hardly stay in the ward, but Sister Dora never
ceased in her devoted care of the men. Cries came from most of them,
“Sister, come and dress me.” “Do dress me,” “Oh, you don’t know how bad
I am.” She could only answer, “Oh my poor men, I’ll dress you all, if
you’ll give me time.” One poor man, seeing how distracted she was by the
different cries for help, said, “Sister Dora, I want to be dressed very
bad, but if there’s any wants you worse go and do them first.” He was in
terrible pain and died during the night. Of the eleven only two
recovered. Some lingered for as long as ten days, and during that time
Sister Dora never went to bed, and hardly left the ward. One of those
who survived described how she went from bed to bed talking, laughing,
even joking with the men; telling them stories, doing everything she
could to distract them from their pain, and pointing out the way to
heaven to those who were to die. He spoke with delight of her visits to
his bedside at night when he was recovering, saying, “It did you good
only to look at her,” and ending with, “What we felt for her I couldn’t
tell you; my tongue won’t say it.”
One result of this terrible accident was that the ward in which the
burnt men had lain was so poisoned that it could not be used again, and
it was decided to build a new hospital. In the meanwhile, a house was
fitted up as a temporary hospital. It was a tiring life for Sister Dora,
as the temporary hospital was small and not at all convenient, and many
patients had to be nursed in their own homes. It was at this time that
she first began to find it difficult to lift her patients, and after a
while she was compelled to consult a doctor about her health. He
discovered that she had a mortal malady. It was possible that an
operation might do her some good, but it was by no means certain. She
determined to go on as usual, and made him promise to tell no one of her
illness. She worked harder than ever and would not give in. She drove
about in her little pony carriage to visit her patients, and no one was
allowed to know that anything was wrong with her. Then an outbreak of
fever in the temporary hospital made it necessary to close it, and as
the new hospital was not yet ready it was possible for Sister Dora to
leave Walsall. She visited her relations and went to Paris and London to
study improvements in surgical science. All the time her disease was
growing worse, and still she told no one. Her wish was to die at Walsall
amongst her own people, and as the hospital was not ready, a little
house near to it was taken for her. People could not believe that she
was dying. She was surrounded with all the care that love could give
her, and often her visitors were surprised to see her, in spite of pain
and weakness, still her old self, full of fun and jokes. Her interest in
the new hospital was very keen, and she rejoiced that it was finished in
time for her to know of its opening. She listened eagerly to all that
was told her about it, and gave her advice about all the arrangements.
Often she suffered terribly, and when at last she died, on Christmas
eve, 1878, it was with relief that her friends heard that her pain was
over. She was carried to her grave by some of the railway men for whom
she had cared with so much devotion. The Bishop was there and great
numbers of the clergy, and there came, too, hundreds of her patients and
an immense crowd consisting of nearly all the people of the town.
[Illustration: THE STATUE AT WALSALL]
When, later, it was discussed what memorial of her should be placed in
Walsall some suggested a Convalescent Home, as what she herself would
most have desired; but the working men of the town were quite clear that
what they wanted was a statue of Sister Dora. One of them said that of
course they could not forget her, but that they wanted her to be there,
so that when strangers came and saw the statue and asked who it was,
they might answer, “Who’s that? Why that’s our Sister Dora.” So her
statue in her nurse’s dress, as she lived and worked amongst them,
stands in the centre of Walsall to remind the people of her life of
love. The workmen spoke of her as “the most saintly thing that was ever
given us.”
XII
QUEEN VICTORIA
IT is impossible in one short chapter to tell about all the things that
made Queen Victoria’s reign famous, and I am only going to tell
something about her own life and to try to show what kind of a woman she
was. Her father was the Duke of Kent, son of King George III., and her
mother was a German princess. The Princess Victoria was their only
child, and she was born in 1819 in Kensington Palace. It was possible
that the little princess might some day be Queen of England, but at her
birth she had three uncles living, older than her father, who would all
have a right to the throne before her. She was only a few months old
when her father and grandfather died and her eldest uncle became king as
George IV. Her mother, a German lady, was very lonely in England. Her
chief adviser was her brother Leopold, then living in England; he made
the Duchess of Kent feel how important her position was as mother of the
child who might be queen some day. He said that she must be brought up
in England; so the duchess consented to live on at Kensington Palace and
devoted herself to the education of her child. In after years the Queen,
writing about her childhood, said that her chief pleasure was visiting
her uncle Leopold, who lived at Claremont, near Esher. She was brought
up very simply and always slept in her mother’s bedroom. When she stayed
at Claremont or by the seaside, where they often went, she did her
lessons in her governess’s bedroom. She was not fond of learning, and
did not know her letters till she was five. George IV. had quarrelled
with her father, and did not like her mother, and took very little
notice of them; but she went as a child to see him at Windsor, and
remembered how he took her by the hand, saying, “Give me your little
paw.” Next day he met her driving in the park and stopped his carriage
and said, “Pop her in,” and she was very pleased to drive by his side in
the carriage with its servants in scarlet liveries.
When she was thirteen her mother gave her a small red morocco book in
which to write her diary, and from that day till a few days before her
death, she used to write down every night the events of the day. As a
little girl she wrote down the hours of her lesson, when she went out
riding, or was taken to the theatre or to hear music, and when she
washed Dash, her pet dog.
The princess’s governess was a German lady, Fräulein Lehzen, whom she
adored, though she was greatly in awe of her; she spoke German before
she learned English, but her mother took care that she should learn
English well. When she was eight a clergyman, Mr. Davys, was appointed
to direct her education. He chose a number of teachers for her, and
himself taught her religion and history. Her life was strict and dull,
and in after years she did not look back to her childhood as a happy
time. George IV. died when she was six and was succeeded by his brother,
William IV., who had no children, so that Princess Victoria was now heir
to the throne. Her mother did not get on with William IV. and did not
like her to go to court, and this made the King very angry, though he
was always very kind to the little princess when she visited him
privately. She was not allowed to go to his coronation, because the King
and her mother could not agree as to the place she should take in the
procession. This was a great disappointment and she wept
bitterly—nothing could console her, not even her dolls.
[Illustration:
QUEEN VICTORIA AT HER ACCESSION.
(_Engraved by Thompson after a Portrait by Lane._)
]
It was a great grief to the princess when her uncle Leopold left England
to become King of Belgium. She was devotedly attached to him and he to
her, and she always looked to him for advice and guidance. They wrote to
one another constantly in terms of the deepest affection. He recommended
her books to read and discussed the affairs of Europe with her. As part
of her education her mother used to take her on tours through different
parts of England, when they visited the great nobles and some of the
chief sights and most important cities. She was sometimes a little tired
by all the stiff ceremonies she had to go through, though she liked
seeing people. She was very fond of music and dancing, spent much of her
time in singing, and learnt to play the harp.
[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF PRINCE ALBERT.]
When she was sixteen, she was confirmed by the Archbishop of Canterbury,
and he spoke to her so seriously about the duties of her position that
she was drowned in tears and frightened to death. One of her uncle
Leopold’s most cherished plans was that the princess should marry her
cousin, Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg; and when she was seventeen, he
arranged that Prince Albert, who was a few months younger, should visit
England with his father and elder brother. The visit was a great
success. The princess wrote to her uncle: “They are both very amiable,
very good and kind, and extremely merry, just as young people should be.
Albert is extremely handsome ... they are excessively fond of music,
like me.” A fortnight later she wrote: “I must thank you, my beloved
uncle, for the prospect of great happiness you have contributed to give
me in the person of dear Albert. Allow me, then, my dearest uncle, to
tell you how delighted I am with him, and how much I like him in every
way. He possesses every quality that could be desired to make me
perfectly happy. He is so sensible, so kind, and so good, and so amiable
too. He has, besides, the most pleasing and delightful exterior and
appearance you can possibly see.” Prince Albert thought his cousin very
amiable and wonderfully self-possessed. Nothing was, however, said about
marriage during this visit and the prince returned to Germany.
Just after the princess was eighteen, her uncle, King William IV., died,
on June 20, 1837. She herself described in her journal what happened
afterwards: “I was awoke at six o’clock by Mama, who told me that the
Archbishop of Canterbury and Lord Conyngham were here and wished to see
me. I got out of bed, and went into my sitting-room (only in my
dressing-gown) and alone, and saw them.” They told her that the King was
dead, and, kneeling to kiss her hand, greeted as Queen the slim young
girl just roused from sleep. A couple of hours later, Lord Melbourne,
the Prime Minister, came to see her, and she wrote: “I saw him in my
room and, of course, quite alone, as I shall always do all my
ministers.” She who had been so carefully guarded by mother and
governess had now to act alone, and it seems, from the way she notes it
in her journal, as if she was glad. She held her first Council that
morning, and again writes that she went to it quite alone. There she
read the speech that Lord Melbourne had prepared for her to the
ministers and privy-councillors. Every one was struck with the way in
which she bore herself. Though she was very short, not five feet tall,
her movements were dignified and graceful. Her voice, which was very
beautiful, was clear and untroubled and thrilled her hearers. The blush
on her cheek added to the interest and charm of her appearance. Lord
Wellington said, “She not merely filled her chair, she filled the room.”
She was quite composed; she wrote in after years that she took things as
they came, as she knew they must be. What she was feeling she wrote that
night in her diary: “Since it has pleased Providence to place me in this
station, I shall do my utmost to fulfil my duty towards my country; I am
very young, and perhaps in many, though not in all, things
inexperienced, but I am sure that very few have more real good will and
more real desire to do what is fit and right than I have;” she wrote,
too, in large letters, “I AM QUEEN.”
[Illustration:
VISCOUNT MELBOURNE.
From a figure in Hayter’s Reformed Parliament in the National Portrait
Gallery.
]
She was delighted with the kindness of Lord Melbourne, her Prime
Minister, and he from the first felt deeply the charm of the girl-queen,
whose steps he guided like a father. After the quiet, dull life she had
led hitherto, it was an amazing change for her, and she enjoyed it to
the full. She loved meeting people and enjoyed the large dinners at
which she presided. She loved her long rides with the ladies and
gentlemen of her court; she enjoyed the court balls, at which she used
to dance all night. But she was also determined from the first to do her
work as Queen. She felt that the country was hers, that the ministers
were hers, and that the people were her people, whom she had to govern.
From the first she showed that as Queen she was going to be independent
of her mother. The duchess lived with her but she had a separate set of
rooms, and was allowed no share in public business. Long hours were
spent by the Queen with Lord Melbourne, talking over public affairs,
that she might learn to understand them. He constantly dined with her,
and when he did always sat next her, and often talked to her of books
and of people whom he had known. She wrote in her diary: “He has such
stores of knowledge, such a wonderful memory; he knows about everybody
and everything, and he imparts all his knowledge in such a kind and
agreeable manner.”
Another friend and adviser was Baron Stockmar, a German friend of the
Queen’s uncle, Leopold, whom he had sent to England to help her to
understand politics. He was a wise man, of great knowledge, and taught
the Queen how she must keep out of party politics, and what were the
limits of her power. It was difficult to know exactly what was the power
of the sovereign in England. The monarchy was not popular when Victoria
became Queen. Neither George IV. nor William IV. had been much
respected, and they had had little influence on affairs. Victoria had a
high idea of her position as well as of her duties as Queen, but she had
to learn exactly how much she was able to do. Sometimes she was deeply
vexed when she could not get her own way, and she made some mistakes at
first. But her strong sense of duty kept her in the right way, and
showed her the kind of influence she could use. Her ministers might
change, but she was always there, and as she took the greatest trouble
to know all that was going on, and read all the most important
dispatches written by her ministers, she soon got a very wide
understanding of affairs, particularly of foreign politics. It was a
strange life for a girl. All the morning she read dispatches, or signed
her name to papers, or talked to her ministers. Then came her long
rides, her music and singing, a game of battledore and shuttlecock with
some of her ladies, a dinner, followed by dancing, music, cards, or wise
talk with her ministers. She enjoyed it all, the power and the freedom,
and the attention paid to her by the waiting crowds when she rode out.
Shortly after her accession, she went to live at Buckingham Palace. It
had been built in the reign of George IV., but neither he nor William
IV. had lived there; it was not at all a convenient house, and
afterwards the Queen improved it very much. She at first thought Windsor
a very melancholy place, but she learnt to like it when in the summer
her uncle Leopold stayed there with her, and she wrote after his visit:
“I have passed such a pleasant time here, the pleasantest summer I have
ever passed in my life.” She was very hospitable, and invited many
relations and other guests to stay at Windsor, and liked to show them
all over the castle, even into the kitchen.
The Queen’s first public appearance of importance was when, the month
after her accession, she dissolved Parliament, and herself read her
speech from the throne. Her voice was said to be exquisite, and her
manner of speaking quite perfect. Next year came her coronation. She
seems to have enjoyed the great day immensely. As she drove through the
enthusiastic crowds on her way to Westminster Abbey, she felt proud to
be the Queen of such a nation. When she got back to the palace, ten
hours after she had set out, she did not really feel tired, and after
dinner felt much gratified when Lord Melbourne said to her, with tears
in his eyes, “You did it beautifully—every part of it with so much
taste.” Later, from her mother’s balcony, she watched the fireworks.
The idea of her marriage with Prince Albert was still cherished; but she
was in no hurry, and meanwhile was very anxious about his education. She
wrote to her uncle that it was her great desire to see “Albert a very
good and distinguished young man.” In 1839 he again visited England with
his brother, and it was not long before the two young people fell
genuinely in love with one another. It was the Queen who had to make the
proposal. She called him to her room and, feeling it a very nervous
moment, told him of her wish. She wrote to her uncle: “The warm
affection he showed me on learning this gave me great pleasure.... I
love him more than I can say.... I do feel very, very happy.” They were
married the following February, and the Queen found in Prince Albert all
the happiness she had hoped for. In after years when she looked back,
she felt that the years of her reign before their marriage were the
least sensible and satisfactory parts of her whole life, “because of the
constant amusement and flattery and mere politics” in which she had
lived. Now she had the joy of a companion to help her in all her work
and to share her life with her. But at first there were difficulties.
Prince Albert was not popular; he was too German for English people to
understand him. The Queen bitterly resented the attacks made on him. The
ministers did not like him to take any part in affairs, and his position
was very uncomfortable. But in time he showed how much he could help the
Queen, and came to share all her work. They had nine children, and the
Queen was a devoted mother, so it was well that she had the prince’s
help in her public life. Her love and admiration for him were unbounded.
After three years of married life, she wrote to her uncle: “I am
grateful for possessing (really without vanity or flattery or blindness)
the most perfect being as a husband in existence, or who ever did exist;
and I doubt whether anybody ever did love or respect another as I do my
dear angel.”
[Illustration:
THE MARRIAGE OF QUEEN VICTORIA TO H.R.H. PRINCE ALBERT.
(_From the Picture by Sir George Hayter at Windsor Castle._)
]
In 1842 they paid their first visit to Scotland, and enjoyed it
immensely. So much did the Queen love the quiet and liberty of her life
in Scotland, that after several visits she rented Balmoral House in
Aberdeenshire that she might have a Scotch home of her own; and after a
while was able to buy the estate and build a new house on it. She did
not like London after her marriage, and wanted a place where she and her
family could live undisturbed by too many officials, so she also bought
a place in the Isle of Wight and built Osborne House there. At both
Osborne and Balmoral life was very simple. The Queen would run in and
out of the house as she liked, and walked about alone, visiting the
cottagers and enjoying her talks with them.